A Gentleman Scorned
by Fragilereality
Summary: The saddest thing about betrayal is it never comes from your enemies. Written for round four of the Quidditch league. Warning - canon character death.


A/N Written for round four of the Quidditch league.

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Chaser 1: Write about the Greengrass family

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2951

Prompts:

4 – Could you be happy here with me?

7 – The world tolerates conceit from those who are successful, but not from anybody else.

8 – X-ray

 **A gentleman scorned**

 **1812 – Wizarding London**

The betrothal ball held in honour of Augustus Greengrass and Persephone Rosier was the event of the season. Anybody who was anybody had been invited and the security trolls were having a hard time keeping out those who hadn't quite made the cut. The guest list was an almanac of the great and the good amongst Wizarding society.

Persephone had been the seasons' untouchable; a diamond of the first water. It was alleged that she had received three proposals of marriage before the end of her first ball, and that even the Muggle Prince Regent had begged an introduction (a swift _Obliviate_ had taken care of that inconvenient infatuation).

The betting books in the gentleman's clubs had overflowed with wagers, as every eligible wizard vied for her hand. Many were surprised when Augustus Greengrass emerged the victor; affable and kind as he was, he was hardly a match for his effervescent bride. Nonetheless, the Wizarding World rejoiced with the happy couple.

Well, _most_ of them did.

The only thing that kept his teeth from grinding together was the cigar Armand Malfoy clenched between his rigid lips. He exhaled smoke in short, angry puffs as he watched Persephone flit from partner to partner on the dancefloor. Her black hair gleamed in the lamplight; the diamonds he had given her sparkled at her throat and ears.

He moved swiftly into her personal space, bared his teeth at the wizard who would have claimed the next dance, and steered her into the scandalous Muggle waltz.

"Armand, I don't remember inviting you."

"You didn't." He gripped her hand tightly, feeling the fragile bones shifting under her skin.

"Of course, I remember now; please unhand me or I'll have one of the trolls throw you out."

"I think not." He pulled her closer against him. While she objected to his possessive hold, she refrained from outwardly struggling in his arms so as to avoid causing a scene.

"What do you want?" There was an air of barely concealed desperation in her words.

"I want what I've always wanted; I want you."

"Well, you can't have me."

"That's not what you said before."

She turned her face away. "Please don't do this here, Armand. We've been over this so many times before; you can't give me what I want, we are too different, you are too…" she tailed off uncertainly.

"Too what… too rich, too powerful, too much in love with you… what is it about me that you find so distasteful?" They stood stationary on the dance floor, unaware of the public spectacle they were creating.

"Too _dark_!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand out of his. "There _is_ good in you Armand, I will always believe that, and once I thought you might allow it to be seen. I believed you would forgo the dark arts for me, but I know now that you never will."

"And you will truly be happy with that"–he gestured rudely in the direction of her fiancé–"grinning buffoon, when you could have had _me_?"

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "At least I will be safe." With those words she pulled away from him and fled the dance floor.

 **2001 - Greengrass Estate and Malfoy Manor**

Astoria had always dreamed of flying. As a little girl, she would lie on her back, cushioned by the long grass in the meadow of her family estate, staring up at the oddly shaped clouds and imagining herself moving amongst them as freely as the birds overhead.

She never flew; not on a broom, not on the back of a magical beast, not even in a Muggle airplane. She arrived at Hogwarts with a note for Madam Hooch explaining that she was too frail for flying lessons. That note had set the scene for her whole academic life. She was always the one left behind, forgotten on the periphery, as her sister and friends enjoyed their lives to the fullest. She was always considered the weak one.

It was strange to be considered so inferior when, deep down, Astoria knew herself to be in possession of strength none of her friends or family could even imagine. She tolerated their society, observing quietly. Sometimes she wondered if she had been laid, like a cuckoo, in the wrong nest; except she was the one who was likely to be pushed out.

She hated Pureblood society, but out of all the Pureblooded wizards who epitomised that society, she hated Lucius Malfoy the most. She despised his sneering, pointed face, his whining, supercilious tone, and the cloying scent of cigars and cologne which lingered for days after one of his all-too-frequent visits to her father's home. The only person she hated more than Lucius was Draco. He was like an imperfect facsimile of his father; constantly seen scurrying two steps behind the Malfoy patriarch, his own small face just failing to carry off the sneer, his barbed comments not quite so razor-sharp. Whilst every other girl she knew wanted to marry Draco, Astoria wanted to punch him.

The war was not kind to the Malfoy family. Years later, when Astoria was dragged along to a dinner at Malfoy Manor by her overambitious father, she could see that Lucius and Narcissa had both been somewhat diminished by their experiences. They still wore their cool arrogance, like a mantel around their aristocratic shoulders, but she could see where the fabric was wearing thin. Draco, however, was the most changed. Whilst he had developed physically; his face losing the last vestiges of childhood and his frame filling out, he seemed to have been rendered almost mute. He spoke only when spoken to and barely looked in her direction during the course of the meal.

It was only later, when the talk inevitably turned to politics, and Astoria winced a little too obviously at one of his father's comments, that Draco politely asked her if she might like to see the gardens.

They walked in silence for some time.

"I'm not like them anymore." She jumped at the sound of his voice, low and intense in the velvety evening air.

"What do you mean?"

"The things I believed, the things they taught me… I can see now, they… _we_ were wrong."

"Oh." She considered his words for a few moments before she finally replied. "I've always known that."

He didn't speak but reached out and hesitantly took her hand in his. She didn't have the heart to snatch it away again.

Draco might never have plucked up the courage to move their relationship beyond the realms of friendship. Gone was the arrogant brat she remembered from her childhood. The cocksure teen, who once strode through the halls of Hogwarts as if he owned them, was no more. In his place was a diffident young man, unsure and shy. Astoria was intrigued. She sought him out time and time again. Her father was delighted at her sudden interest in his friends' son and brought her to Malfoy Manor almost every week. It was there, in the gardens where they had first walked together, that Astoria stood on tiptoe and pulled Draco's face towards her own.

"Will you kiss me?"

He hesitated. "Do you really want me to?"

In answer, she pressed her mouth against his. She had never kissed anyone before and wasn't quite sure what to do, but Draco seemed to come to life in her arms, his lips moving gently against her own. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers.

"I wish you didn't have to leave." He breathed the words against her skin.

"Then ask me to stay."

He drew back a little to look into her eyes, his fingers brushed her cheek. "Do you even know what you're offering? My family won't change." He broke away from her and turned to stare across the gardens, back towards the house. "Could you be happy here with me?"

Astoria slipped her hand into his. "I would be happy anywhere with you."

 **1812 Knockturn Alley**

Even the most unsavoury patrons of Knockturn Alley knew better than to impede the way of Armand Malfoy as he strode down the centre of the filthy street. The sinister clicking of his snake topped cane against the cobbles announced his presence long before his lean, menacing figure came into view. His pale grey frock coat and matching top hat seemed incongruous amongst the dark robed and grubby clientele, and thieves and villains alike melted from his path.

The proprietor of Melville and Rose's Antiquities took a respectful step back as Malfoy entered the establishment.

"Do you have the item?" Malfoy's voice was filled with such menace that the old man fumbled with, and almost dropped, the artefact he was already unwrapping.

"Of course, of course. I have it right here." He handed Malfoy a small wooden statue of a naked, pot-bellied woman. Dark smears covered the statue and seemed to seep into the very grain of the wood.

"This is it?" Malfoy's voice barely contained the sneer.

"Yes, yes." The frightened man proffered a scroll. "The incantation is here. One drop of the victim's blood is needed to activate the curse."

Malfoy's gloved hands unfurled the parchment and he scanned its contents. "The curse is easily broken I see - a second drop of blood will lift it."

"It's always the same with blood magic." The old man spoke apologetically. "You do realise, sir, that the curse is unpredictable?"

"How so?"

The old man trembled under Malfoy's cold gaze. "It only affects the females of the line, Sir, and only one of each generation, there's no way to predict or control the victim."

Malfoy shrugged. "That's of little import to me, one woman is much like another as far as I'm concerned." He dropped a few coins onto the dirty counter and picked up the statue once more.

"Sir, wait!"

He paused.

"You must take care of the statue. Once it is broken, the curse can never be lifted."

A faint hint of a smile crossed Malfoy's thin lips. "Who says I will ever wish for it to be lifted?"

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Persephone Greengrass (née Rosier), ever a creature of habit, would be taking her morning stroll shortly. A well placed _Stupefy_ , and the little matter of his revenge would be taken care of before luncheon. His smile broadened.

 **2002 Greengrass Estate**

Astoria was writing a letter to her cousin in Australia when the library door swung open to admit Lucius Malfoy. She elected to ignore him, keeping her head bent over the paper, hoping against hope that he would think the room empty and leave.

Finally, when he stood so close that the scent of his cologne and the weight of his presence were almost suffocating her, she looked up.

"Mr Malfoy." No fear was present in her voice. "I'm afraid my father is not here."

"I did not come to see your father."

She put down her quill and eyed him nervously. She refused to falter under his unnerving scrutiny.

"Draco was right." He rested his heavily ringed fingers on the writing desk. "You _are_ the pretty one."

She watched, mesmerised as those fingers traced the contours of her face. The backs of his knuckles trailed down to brush against the tops of her breasts.

"I can see why he wants you." He bent over her, so his breath moved the hair at the nape of her neck when he spoke. His fingers tangled around a strand of her dark hair and yanked sharply, bringing her cheek to his lips. "But you are not a suitable bride for my son." The words were whispered like a lover's caress.

"Why not?" She spoke through numb lips.

"Why not indeed?" Abruptly he released her and stepped away. "I know what you think, Miss Greengrass." His voice was cold. "Don't think I can't hear your silent condemnation loud and clear from across the dinner table. You've always worn that bleeding Hufflepuff heart on your sleeve, haven't you?" He pressed the head of his cane against her chin, forcing her to look up at him once more. "You might be a pureblood witch, Miss Greengrass, but you are not one of us."

" _Blood traitor_." His poisonous words hung in the stagnant air between them.

She stood up so suddenly that her chair toppled backwards hitting the parquet floor with a crash, but when she spoke her voice was level and calm. "The world tolerates conceit from those who are successful, Mr Malfoy, but not from anybody else. You had your time, but that time is now over." She advanced on him, no longer afraid. "You are nothing more than a relic of a forgotten age. Draco and I are the future." She defiantly stared him down. "Nothing you say will come between us and you will never again preach your Pureblood propaganda to me or anyone else.

For a moment they stared at each other, brown eyes locked with grey. Malfoy was the first to look away.

"You will regret this, Miss Greengrass." His voice was low and venomous as he left the room.

 **2018 Malfoy Manor**

"There has to be something we can do. There has to be a cure–we can't lose you."

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I warned you this would happen." She reached up to cup his cheek and gazed at his well-loved face. "We always knew we didn't have forever."

"I don't want forever; I just want a few more years. I need you. _We_ need you."

Astoria closed her eyes in order to conceal her own grief. She had long ago given up fearing death, but the thought of the pain her passing would inflict on Draco and Scorpius was almost too much to bear.

"I've made an appointment at a Muggle hospital." Draco clutched her hand in his. "I know the healers can't do anything more, but the Muggles have different technology, we'll get you one of those X-ray things. They'll be able to find a cure."

She submitted to every intrusive test and investigation the Muggles could throw at her. She was poked and prodded and pricked and scanned and, in the end, they told her what the healers already knew. That her blood count was dangerously low, that her bone marrow was failing, that her body's own defences tore through any transfused blood in a matter of days. They told her she was dying.

The family curse was entrenched in Greengrass history, even if nobody knew its origin. It had manifested in Astoria when she was only a few months old, and from that day forward she had been marked. As a child she might enjoy months of perfect health before one her 'episodes'. In the aftermath of these she was weakened for days, sometimes weeks. As she grew older the frequency and intensity of the attacks increased, and her recovery became less complete with each one.

She considered herself lucky to have lived so long and been so happy. Her only regret was leaving behind the man she had grown to love and the beautiful child they had made together. Even that sorrow was tinged with pride. Scorpius had been brought up the way she wanted; he had been steeped in love, not in prejudice and fear, and Draco was a wonderful father. She knew her son would be loved after her death.

 **2019 Malfoy Manor**

Narcissa Malfoy watched her husband sort through the boxes. One slightly raised eyebrow the only indication that she was in any way interested in what he was doing. Aurors had raided the house the previous night, as had been their wont to do on a regular basis since the war had ended. Of course, they hadn't found anything. Lucius had no desire ever to return to Azkaban and, as a result, the house had been purged of every dark artefact it had ever contained.

Something about the box of relics the Potter boy had brought up from the cellar had intrigued her husband though. He had sat up all night turning the pages of a faded journal embossed with the name of a long forgotten relative, pawing through the box that had contained it. Now he sat, looking considerably more rumpled than usual, his long fingers clasped around a wooden figurine depicting a naked pot-bellied lady. Narcissa's delicate nose wrinkled at the ugly, stained statue.

"Draco just sent an owl." She placed a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder. "The healers say Astoria will be gone in a matter of hours. He would like us there with him." Narcissa was ambivalent to her daughter-in-law. The girls' political leanings were unfortunate, but Draco had thrived during the years of their marriage. She had undoubtedly made the boy happy. Narcissa would mourn her passing for that reason at least.

Lucius covered her hand with his own and looked up at her. Something like triumph flickered in his silver eyes.

"The curse?" he asked.

Narcissa nodded. "It's always this way with the Greengrass woman. We should be thankful Astoria bore us a son."

Lucius rose and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I need to bathe and change, but I will be with you shortly." He stood for a moment before the fireplace, gazing down at the ugly statue in his hands. With a sudden jerk he tossed it into the flames and left the room without giving it a second glance.

Narcissa watched as flames engulfed the wooden figurine. It glowed green and then purple before it split apart. She could have sworn she saw blood spilling out from the centre, to evaporate in the heat, but she turned away. Whatever the statue had been, it was gone now and there was no need for her to concern herself with it, not when Draco and Scorpius needed her.


End file.
